This homily is based on John 13:31-35.
Today our Lord gives us a deceptively simple commandment: “Love one another.” It’s deceptive because it’s not simple to love others. Don’t get me wrong: It’s easy to love someone when you’re in a good mood–or when it feels good to be loving, or when the person is lovable. But think of the Lord’s commandment at the end of a long exhausting day, and the person before you can’t tell–or doesn’t care–that you’re tired and this close to losing it.
This reflection is based on the short Gospel passage John 10:27-30 for the 4th Sunday of Easter and for Mother’s Day.
Never mind if I had just been recently traumatized by the finale of “The Walking Dead,” but I allowed a Jesuit friend to introduce me to yet another TV series called “The Family.” To my horror (but also secret delight!), the TV series, which ended after only one season, is turning out to be just as disturbing and increasingly creepy.
It’s about a young boy named Adam, who goes missing and is presumed to have been murdered until he suddenly reappears ten years later. He has managed to escape from his captor and is reunited with his family. This happy turn of events notwithstanding, questions gradually appear one after the other. As new and unexpected pieces of information begin to surface, his family reluctantly begins to wonder if he really is the boy that he claims to be. I have to confess that even if some of the twists seem unbelievable, I’ve been hooked, and I’ve been coming back for more!
The following reflection is based on John 21:1-19.
In our Gospel story today, Jesus does something extraordinarily ordinary: He cooks!
I had never done any cooking in my life until a few years ago when I was studying in London. My new Superior then told me in no uncertain terms that I should, like every member of our community, take my turn to do the cooking for Sunday dinner.
When I protested that I could only scramble eggs, he dismissed my concern with a wave of his hand. When I suggested ordering pizza, he just walked away.
This homily is based on John 20:19-31 for the Sunday of the Divine Mercy.
He couldn’t wait.
That’s certainly what it looks like. The Risen Lord seemed to be in such a rush to appear to the disciples. Not only, we are told, did He show up in that room on the evening of the first day of the week (that’s Easter Sunday, the same day He rose from the dead), but He also didn’t let the locked doors keep Him away.
He couldn’t wait, could He?
This reflection is prompted by John 20:1-9, the reading for Easter Sunday.
I love Easter mornings. I find it a very consoling time after the frenzy of retreat-giving during Holy Week every year. I’ve been giving a Lenten retreat every year for the past twelve years–both face-to-face and online–because, among other reasons, I need it, and it’s good for my soul.
This morning I caught the moon lingering beyond sunrise, and it was a marvel to see how brightly it shone amidst the daylight.
